Then too many voices shouting too many things. Nolan quit listening.
Nolan missed his doctor's appointment Saturday morning. In the afternoon, he and his mother went down to the police station to see Lt. Bagwell, the Coppell police officer at the scene of the accident the night before. The news was came on after his mother started the van.
Long time Parkview High School football coach, Edward McAfee, is dead. He is the apparent victim of a DWI. His body was found under a car that crashed into a retaining wall at the construction site of the Crest View Mall in Lewisville. Police report that the teenager driving the car was apparently under the influence of alcohol. Since the driver is a minor, his name is not being released at this time. A Police Department spokesman said the investigation into the incident is ongoing.
Mrs. Carole Nolan eyed her son in the rearview mirror as she switched off the radio. "We don't need to listen to that," she said. The rest of the ride to the station was made in silence.
Kevin Nolan stared out the passenger’s side window, seeing little. He was afraid to look at his mother. He did not know what to say to her. I let her down, he kept thinking over and over. How could I be so stupid? His stomach churned and soured as he remembered her face when she wheeled her chair into his room at the hospital last night. Never had her eyes been so dark. Her face sagged from her cheekbones. Her lips were nearly blue.
She did not even look at him when she spoke. "They tell me you're all right. You'll probably have a headache in the morning. Lt. Bagwell says he will see us in his office tomorrow afternoon. He wants you to get some rest." She said nothing he hadn't heard before.
I didn't mean to drink, he wanted to tell her. I didn't. But how could he make her believe that? And how could he explain the car? He couldn't. Not to her. Not even to himself. What was the point of even trying?
The sound of the hydraulic lift startled the teenager. The van was parked in the handicapped spot near the side door of the police station.
"Let's go, Kevin," Mrs. Nolan said, wheeling off the lift.
He was slow to climb out of the van and come around to the other side of the vehicle where his mother waited.
Nolan stepped around the chair and pressed the button to close the van’s door. Still facing the van, he said, "I don’t know what I can tell him. I don’t remember driving out there. I really don’t."
A few minutes later, the Nolan’s were shown into the lieutenant’s office. There was a partially eaten sandwich and a half-cup of coffee on the desk.
"Excuse the mess, folks," Bagwell said, as the two came into his office. "I had to eat on the run today. A lot going on."
Nolan pushed his mother’s chair up to the desk.
"You can close the door," the lieutenant said. "No sense letting every one hear what I have to say."
Nolan gave the older man, still wearing the same crumpled gray suit coat as he had the night before, an odd look before closing the door.
The lieutenant motioned the teen into a seat next to his mother before continuing. "Let me say some things up front, Mrs. Nolan. Kevin. Then I’ll give you a chance to ask questions. When you're finished, I’ll ask a few. Agreed?"
The Nolans nodded.
"First, we're not sure we know what happened last night."
Mrs. Nolan's knuckles whitened on the arms of her chair.
The lieutenant waved a hand to stop anything the teenager had to say. "Let me explain a few things we do know before you ask anything. Okay?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "First, the coroner is still studying the body. There are some bruises that are inconsistent with the accident. Second, we can't figure out where Kevin got that bump on his head."
Nolan touched his forehead where a large, purple bruise still throbbed.
"There are a few things that don't add up. And I'm going to need your help, Kevin, to try and put the pieces together." Bagwell looked from the boy to his mother. "The official department statement will continue to be that the accident is being investigated."
"But what does all that mean for me?" Nolan asked.
"For now," the lieutenant replied, "it doesn't mean much."
Nolan's chest fell.
"Until we have a better idea of what happened, Kevin, I'm afraid a lot of people are going to wonder what you did and why you did it."
Tears welled up in Nolan's eyes as he looked away.
"I'm sorry."
The sound of footsteps could be heard in the hall in the silence that followed. Finally, Nolan asked. "Are you going to take my license?"
"No," the lieutenant replied. "Unless we determine that it wasn't an accident…that you planned to do it…." His voice trailed off. "No. You won't lose your license."
After another short pause, Bagwell turned to Mrs, Nolan. "Is there anything I can tell you?"
She shook her head.
"All right, then," the lieutenant said. "I'm going to get you a cup of coffee and have you wait down the hall while I talk to your son."
The middle-aged woman stared at the police officer.
"I need to talk to him alone," Bagwell said in answer to the unspoken question. "It will be easier for him if you're not here."
As the lieutenant rose from his seat, Nolan said, "I can take her."
"No. That's all right," Bagwell replied. He stepped around the desk and pulled Mrs. Nolan's chair back through the door.
Nolan could hear the lieutenant's voice as the policeman pushed his mother down the hallway.
A few minutes later, Bagwell returned. "I hope you like coke," he said, handing Kevin a cold can. There's not much of a choice on Saturday afternoon."
"Thanks," Nolan replied, taking the can and popping the top. The teenager looked around his side of the room, along the edge of the desk.
"What's the matter?" Bagwell asked.
"Gum," Nolan replied.
Bagwell smiled. He picked up his plastic wastebasket and held it out toward the teen. "I see I'm not the only one with a bad habit."
Nolan tossed the gum into the basket, his face flushing. He took a sip of the coke, trying to hide his embarrassment.
After returning the basket to its place, the lieutenant sat down and turned serious. "Let's go over what you told me last night," Bagwell said, pulling out a small notebook. "If I didn't get something right, you tell me. Okay?"
Nolan dipped his head in reply.
Bagwell started reading. "You say you left work a little after eight and drove to Steve Hargrove's house on Tenth Street. You got there about eight fifteen…." Bagwell droned on. Kevin only half listened, trying to remember. Steve Hargrove, Kramer, Springer, several other football players encircled him. Everyone was grabbing peppers. Hargrove was shoving them at him. He remembered taking two from the upper classman. After he ate the peppers, Springer handed him back his coke. He couldn't taste it. He could barely feel it is in numbed mouth. He didn't remember how many peppers he ate after that. Or how much coke he drank. He remembered having to look for his coke all the time. He would set it down one place only to find it somewhere else. He remembered half-listening to Hargrove talk about what Parkview should have done against Central. Some of his former teammates got mad. Somebody threw a punch. Kramer pulled him out of the way, Nolan remembered. Hargrove pelted his attacker with three quick jabs before Springer pulled him back. And then Nolan couldn't remember much more. Mrs. Phillips came in to tell everyone when to go home. The last time she came in, he was already starting to crash on the bean bag chair by the door.
"Can you remember any of the other people who were at the party?"
"What?" Nolan asked, only half-hearing the lieutenant's question.
"The names of the other people who were there?" the lieutenant sighed.
Nolan repeated the names of all the people he knew.
"Anyone else?"
"There were some other people there. But I don't know what their names are," Nolan said. "I just guessed they were friends of Hargrove's--maybe guys that live in his neighborhood." Nolan tried to picture all the different people. Whether they sat or stood or played pool. When they left. "I just can't remember any other names," he said with a shake of his head.
"How well did you know Mr. McAfee?" Bagwell asked, taking a sip of his coke, turning a page of his notebook.
"Coach McAfee?" the teenager asked.
The lieutenant nodded.
"He was my history teacher."
Bagwell waited.
"What do you want me to tell you?" Nolan asked.
"Did you like him?
"He was okay," the boy replied.
"Good teacher?"
Nolan did not answer right away. "He's kind of boring, really," he said, staring down into his lap.
"Hard?"
"No. But you have to read the book. He's not going to discuss anything in class except football."
"That make you mad?"
"No," Nolan replied. "Not really. I don't mind reading the stuff. Most classes have some reading."
Bagwell persisted in asking more and more questions about the coach.
"I didn't hate him!" Nolan yelled in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that. He was just my history teacher. I didn't like him. I didn't hate him. Most of the time I didn't even think about him. When I did think about him, I thought he was boring. Okay?"
Bagwell jotted a few more notes before looking over at the teenager. "I think I have enough for now," the officer told him. "I'll probably want to talk to you again."
"I don't know what else I can tell you," Nolan said.
"Sometimes, what happened becomes clearer a few days after all the excitement has died down," Bagwell replied. "After I talk to some of your friends and to some of the people who went to this party, I may learn something that I need to talk to you about. It's all pretty routine."
The teenager did not reply.
The lieutenant walked the boy out into the waiting area where his mother was reading a magazine. He thanked her for coming down with her son and said he might need to talk to her again in a few days, too. Then he left the Nolans at the station door.
"What do you think he wants to talk to me about?" Mrs. Nolan mused as her son wheeled her chair through the door.
"How should I know," the teenager spat.
"Kevin?"
But the boy did not respond. He pulled the lever for the hydraulic lift on the van, helped his mother into position, and threw the lever in reverse before walking around and climbing in on the passenger's side. He strapped on the seat belt, put his head back against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.